


Catch

by wildwordwomyn



Category: Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: Explicit Language, First Time, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-19
Updated: 2010-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 04:50:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwordwomyn/pseuds/wildwordwomyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian Johnson is a nerd...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch

Brian Johnson is a nerd.

 

Always has been. Probably always will be. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Some people are just born that way. And it's not like he seemed to have a problem with that back at Shermer High. It was like he'd accepted his fate. Which is cool. Brian had smarts. Like he could go anywhere he wanted to if he wanted it bad enough, and Andy could tell he'd wanted something bad enough. Even then. Man, that day he broke down? That Saturday when he, and Brian, Allison, Claire and John had detention together? He hasn't had a day like that since. Where he got someone and someone got him. Although they didn't become, you know, friends. They all would nod slightly at each other in the hallways between classes but everyone kinda knew that day was it. Well, everyone except Brian and Allison. Rumor had it they even dated for a little while.

 

Andy can't see it. But the longer he thinks about it the more he kinda can. Because Brian, despite his astronomical stress-levels and overwhelming anxiety, was a nice kid. Not what he'd call handsome but once he grew into his face and body, well, he'd be good-looking. It's a strange thing to consider but he still finds himself wondering what Brian would look like now. Taller maybe. With a deeper voice...

 

He shakes his head. Brian's fifteen year old face really has no business popping up in his mind. Yet it does sometimes. And now, it seems, is one of them. No doubt from seeing his father earlier. God knows he brings out the rebellious teenage self in him more often than not. Why wouldn't he want to think about a happier day? Jesus! More and more he wonders what happened to them. To Brian most of all. If any of them were to to run into each other now would they still recognize each other? Would John take one look at him and say, 'Hey, Jock Boy! How's it hanging these days?', smirking all the while? Would Allison run up and steal something from him for old time's sake? Would Claire glide up to him on the street with a rock on her finger the size of Texas and ask how married life was treating him, even though she'd know through her parents and his parents and their old classmates that he's twice divorced and still childless?

 

Does a mid-life crisis start at 40? Stupid question. Of course it does. Who else can afford to buy sports cars and trophy wives? Not that he can. He can barely afford his condo...

 

Andy's berating himself as usual about his apparent lack of intelligence when he spots an oddly familiar blond head heading his way at the Cup O Joe he frequents when he's in town. He stares, impolitely so, waiting for the man to look up so he can see if it's him. One in a million chance but what if it is? His heart races a little bit faster in anticipation. Just when the man's about to pass his table he catches a good glimpse of his face and, yeah, it's Brian in older, well-worn flesh. At first he hadn't been sure but the light blue eyes he'd know anywhere.

 

"Brian? Brian Johnson?" he asks right as the man takes a step right past his chair.

 

The man hesitates, turns, and, recognizing him, grins. "Andy? Jesus, man, almost didn't recognize you there!"

 

He back-tracks quickly, holding out his hand to shake. Andy does so eagerly. He notes that the voice has dropped to a pleasant baritone but the face is what gives him pause. Not only has he grown into his features, he's blossomed. Not like Andy should be aware of this fact, because he shouldn't. He most definitely shouldn't be noticing how Brian is wearing, and pleasantly filling out, black khaki carpenter pants and a white thermal tank top with what appear to be paint splatters on them. And his handshake, once his brain stops wandering off, is strong. Huh. Whatever he expected, it wasn't this...

 

"How are you?" Brian asks.

 

"Not too bad. You? You look good, man!" Yeah, gotta tone it down, he tells himself. And let go of his hand!

 

"Yeah. You too. God, Andy Clark, as I live and breathe..." His grin is friendly as he extracts himself. "I heard you lived in California someplace."

 

"No, I, uh," he bites back the sudden sense of shame for not having left Illinois, "I'm still here. Chicago actually. Aren't you in New York?"

 

"Oh. No." He seems pleased that Andy has asked, that he's heard and retained any news about him. "I was. For a few years. Then L.A. I just moved back here about a year ago to be closer to my dad since my mom died."

 

For a second Andy doesn't know what to say. A year ago...Then his manners kick in. "I'm so sorry to hear that." He hopes he doesn't look at distracted as he feels. Chicago's not even an hour away. "How's your dad doing?"

 

The smile that Brian graces him with is so bright he can't even think of a word to describe it. He can't tell if it's because he's happy that he's asked or if he's glad to see him or what. All he knows is there's a spot right under his rib cage where warmth is spreading, and it scares him. The last time he felt that warmth was when he married his ex-wives and look how those situations turned out!

 

He misses Brian's answer, not tuning in until he hears, "...your dad? Allison said he was sick last time I talked to her."

 

Another blast from the past if there ever was one. He'd lasted about 2 months with her. Before she went psycho on him and threatened to slit his throat with his own Swiss Army knife that she'd stolen off him..."He's hanging in there," he says, hoping Brian won't inquire further. "How is Allison anyway? You ever see John or Claire?"

 

He laughs the same. No sound for a full 15 seconds, then that high-pitched guffaw that automatically makes Andy laugh. "Sorry, man. Just, God, walking down memory lane, aren't we?" Brian smiles again, making him dizzy. He concentrates on breathing for a moment to will away the sudden fragility in his legs. Luckily he's already sitting down. “Allison's good. Living in Seattle now. A photographer. She's had a few showings in pretty big galleries there.”

 

“Yeah? Good for her.” And it is. As crazy as she was back then Andy had seen something special in her, had known if she let herself she would do some amazing things.

 

“John's a private eye if you can believe it.” Brian keeps grinning. God. Andy finds himself wanting to take that pale, angular face in his hands and dive into his mouth. He should be listening, but Brian's lips are still rosy and soft-looking, and he understands now why he has never been able to forget him. “Wild, huh? But he's supposed to be pretty damn good at it and he keeps getting business so...”

 

“You keep in touch with him still?” Something flickers past Brian's expression, something undefinable that hits Andy wrong. He wonders why John would be talking to Brian at all. They didn't have much in common as far as he knew. Did they?

 

“Yeah. Me and John...” He doesn't elaborate unfortunately. Leaving Andy to guess what the end of that sentence could be.

 

He finally remembers to invite Brian to join him at the table where they continue to catch up for another half hour. Brian never does explain what he'd meant with the whole 'me and John' thing and he doesn't ask. It's none of his business. At least that's what he tells himself. He can't help imagining them together though. John hovering over Brian, underneath him sweating and undulating, his fair skin flushed with arousal, John's voice whispering naughty things in his ear to crank him up more and more. Brian keeps talking about his life then and now, everything that has happened in between. Andy can hear the words. He just keeps getting distracted. By how wiry Brian looks, slender and muscular. By his forearms and the thick veins running through them, like thin, corded ropes. He has the craziest urge to reach out and slide a fingertip along them. He just barely restrains himself from doing it just to see what they feel like.

 

After they've caught up, after Brian says he has to get back to his dad and Andy murmurs something vague about returning to his own, he follows Brian out of the cafe, watching his hips as he walks. Brian walks with a straight back now, confident and able. The shoulder blades peeking out of the tank top armholes shift easily, sensually rolling with each step. He thinks about how they might fit into his palms and blushes guiltily when Brian turns back and sees him staring.

 

“We should get together again, you know? It's nice to see old friends again.” As if they had ever been friends to begin with. “And it's not like Chicago's too far away. We could make a day of it.” Andy nods without even knowing he's doing so, grinning like an idiot. He takes a pen and pad of paper out of a jeans pocket and begins to write. “My numbers where you can reach me. Call any of them, okay? Any time. I go by weird hours.” He rips off the sheet and hands it over. He doesn't flinch when their fingers brush against each other's for a second but Andy does. Especially when he feels an electric shock. He pulls his hand back quickly, making sure to grab the paper while he does it. The last thing he wants is to lose it, even if it means it scares him to hell and back.

 

“It was good seeing you again, Brian,” he says huskily before clearing his throat. “And I'll definitely call. The Breakfast Club's gotta stick together, right?” He's aware of the smile he throws at the younger man being slightly off but he banks on them not knowing each other well enough for him to notice.

 

“Yeah, you too! God, I just can't believe this.” He chuckles. “Andy Clark.” Andy gulps down the rush of desire he feels at the sound of his name, at the way it sounds so...He likes the way Brian says it. As much as he doesn't want to. There's a certain intimacy in the shape his mouth takes as the three syllables slip out, a gentle promise. It's been too long since someone has said his name like that. He doesn't care that it's a man making him feel this way. He only knows he can't wait to feel it again. “You call.” Brian's face has lost the grin, has become intensely focused on his own. He wonders if it looks like that when he's having sex. Would he look at him like that if they were in bed together?

 

“Yeah,” he vows, trying to find where his lost breath went to, to calm himself.

 

Brian smiles then, the same way he had  when Andy had asked about his dad and waves, walking away. Andy's eyes follow him until he turns a corner. Life on the street carries on as normal but Andy's heart has sped up involuntarily as his vision has reduced to the spot he last saw the man. Instantly he becomes aware that he never had that happen with his exes. That the warmth he experienced earlier has spread to his whole body, burning him from the inside out.

 

“I'm so screwed,” he murmurs to himself, turning toward his car in the parking lot. “So very, very screwed...”

 

Andy doesn't go back to hospital like he said he would. Instead he heads to his hotel, tired and feeling every one of his 40 years. Once in his room he silently grabs a miniature bottle of Jack Daniels and unscrews the cap. He drinks it quickly, letting the heat blossom in his chest, hoping against hope that it'll roast the desperate arousal he'd felt at seeing Brian. If anything the alcohol makes the feeling worse. His other hand still holds the paper with the man's numbers. He glances at it, torn between picking up the phone and laying down to get some rest. Rest is a good idea. He's been up all day for the last two weeks, taking care of things for his father, listening to the old man tell him how worthless he is, how stupid and weak, unlike his brothers. Yet his brothers have all been busy. Too busy to take him to his doctor's visits, to make sure he's taking care of himself. Andy has been the only one to actually come and do for the old man what he won't do for himself. Resenting it the whole way, but still here. Think the old man cares? No.

 

He sits up on the bed, clenching the paper in his hands, closing his eyes as he pictures Brian in that tank, those jeans. Pictures what he might look like under them. How his hips might be a little sharp and somehow easier to hold onto. His tall, skinny legs like sticks holding onto his waist with a strength Andy could never question. Andy wants to feel that power, wonders how it would control him. Would he hold him down on a bed like this one? Would Brian kiss him into submission or hold his hands above his head with a tight grip, not letting go no matter how many times he asked him to? Would he...would he take him...grab Andy's own hips...open his thighs with a slick caress...slide his body over him, into him, until he'd forget his own name? Andy's breathing turns ragged at the images flooding his brain, his free hand slipping down to cup himself through his pants. He wishes it was Brian's hand touching him, wishes Brian would kiss him. Wishes Brian would just...Anything. He wishes Brian would do anything. To him, with him, for him.

 

When he falls alseep it's with Brian's smile in mind, Brian's hands.

 

Six hours later he's conscious and alert due to the front desk wake up call. The sheets are tangled around his legs, glued to them. It doesn't take a genius to know what he'd dreamed about, but it still pisses him off that of all the men he has to have a sexual identity crisis about it's Brian Johnson, Shermer High nerd. It was bound to happen. He gets that. It's just, it's Brian freaking Johnson!

 

He doesn't call Brian for another week. Not until his father is back in Shermer and he's back in the Chicago. He'd picked up the hotel phone a million times, his cell phone a million more, and he couldn't. He just couldn't dial the numbers and hear his voice and want so much it flayed him like knives cutting into his flesh. So he'd waited until he was safely away from his father, from his obligations, for a while. He'd waited until he the only voice he heard in his head was Brian's. And then, on the billionth time he picked up his cell, he let himself dial all 11 numbers of Brian's work phone, blanking out on what exactly it was that Brian did for a living.

 

“Hello?” he hears tentatively. He can't blame him. The guy probably isn't even expecting him to call anymore, probably figures he's lost interest in...whatever they were trying at in Cup O Joe's. Acquaintances? Friends? More? God, what if Brian isn't gay? Not that Andy's gay or anything. Far from it. But Brian? Brian is...What if...? Shit.....

 

“...Uh, hello?...” He's a dumb ass!

 

“Who is this?” Brian asks suspiciously.

 

“It's, uh, it's me...I mean it's Andy. Clark? Andy Clark? From high school?” Total dumb ass. Can't even sound halfway smart when saying a simple greeting. He drops his head into his hand, groaning. “Sorry. Let me start over, okay? Hi. This is Andy Clark, Breakfast Club member and former jock. Saying hi. Again.”

 

Brian chuckles. It goes straight to Andy's groin. “Hi. Again. Brian Johnson. Brain.” Andy smiles slowly as the tension in his neck releases, better since he's on more solid ground. “How are you? Your dad?”

 

“Ah. The old man'll live longer than me probably. I'm okay.” He's not, though. Not now. The low, smooth cadence of Brian's voice is doing something to his insides that definitely reminds him of his exes. Twisting him up the way the women did during their courtships when he couldn't get enough and they'd been willing to do anything for him. Maybe what he's feeling now is what they felt for him?

 

“Where are you?”

 

“Home,” he replies, then clarifies, “in Chicago.”

 

“Well. What are you doing now?”

 

“Nothing. It's Sunday.” It's on the tip of his tongue to ask why.

 

“Good. You up for a day trip?” He throws down the challenge like it's nothing. Like it shouldn't mean anything to Andy except a drive. Like he shouldn't have been wanting, waiting, for the suggestion, the chance to see him again.

 

“I...Okay...Where am I going?”

 

“My house.”

 

Andy almost drops the phone when his hand abruptly surrenders to nervous sweat. He clears his throat and closes his eyes. “Your house?” He fights to make sure the words come out steady.

 

“Yeah. Why not? It's a nice house and my dad and I put a lot of work into it,” he states defensively.

 

“No, I didn't mean...I mean I'm sure it's a real nice place, Brian. I just...” He sighs inwardly. If they're alone, in an enclosed space, he won't be responsible for his actions. All week long he's been fantasizing about the man. To see him in the flesh just might break whatever stranglehold he's got on his emotions and his libido. “How do I get there?” he asks.

 

“Look, if you don't wanna come you don't have to. I just thought it'd be a nice getaway for you, you know? I could even cook a decent lunch. Maybe dinner if you stay long enough. That's all. It's not a big deal if you want to stay home.”

 

“Directions?” At this moment he'd run through the streets of Shermer naked to get that happy sound in his voice again, to make him glad that he's asked for his company.

 

“You sure, Andy?”

 

“Sure I'm sure!”

 

Brian gives in and gives him directions and Andy tells him after a quick shower and a cup of coffee he'll be on his way. It's already 10 am so his morning wood has been gone awhile. That, however, does not stop him from jerking off in the shower to the thought of Brian on his knees before him. He dries off with a spring in his step, gaining a perverse pleasure in wondering how his dad would react at seeing him like this. Getting excited over going to see a former male classmate. So excited he had to touch himself. His dad would keel over dead. After a few choice words, of course. His father always has been a bastard to him.

 

He drinks the coffee in nothing but his white briefs while pondering what clothes to wear. His closet light is on and he's looking at everything closely, trying to figure out what image he wants to project. Khakis and a button down? No. Too preppy and boring. It's what he wore to high school and college, what he wears every day now to the styrofoam peanut packing manufacturing plant where he works as an office manager. All that's left is jeans and tank tops. Still his favorite comfort clothes. He drains the coffee and puts the mug down on the nightstand. He pulls on a pair of light blue jeans and a dark blue tank top, slipping into a pair of scuffed up tennis shoes to complete the look. It may not be sexy, he thinks, but it'll help him relax. Within ten minutes he's in his car and on the road.

 

An hour later he's pulling into Brian's driveway, wondering what the hell he's getting himself into.

 

“Hey,” Brian calls from the screened-in porch. “You made it in one piece. I'm impressed. I thought a wormhole might've sucked you into an alternate universe where you'd be stuck as a senior at Shermer forever.” The smile says he's joking but it's obvious he'd doubted if Andy was coming at all.

 

“Uh, no. No wormhole.” Luckily for him Brian chooses not explain what a wormhole is. “Pretty.” He's talking about the flowers in a small garden to the left. Tulips and buttercups and other things he doesn't recognize.

 

“Thanks. Mom got into growing flowers so Dad keeps the garden up in her memory.” Brian comes out to stand near him, holding out a hand to shake. It doesn't occur to him to check the hand first. Then he feels something ooze between their fingers. They both look down, he in disgust. Brian guffaws. “Shit! Sorry. It's paint. I was painting. Sorry!” He grabs a small towel from his back pocket, giving it to Andy to wipe off the paint.

 

“Right. You said you were a housepainter.” He's not looking at Brian as he cleans himself off so he misses the quirk of his eyebrow.

 

“Not painter as in houses. Painter as in artist. Galleries. Allison bought my first canvas back in the day. I told you this when we were at that cafe.”

 

Andy blushes. “Sorry, I...” He'd been thinking too much about how great Brian looked to remember much of the conversation. “I forgot.” It was a save, but a bad one.

 

“No problem, man. It's okay. Nobody expected me to turn out an artist. Least of all me. But I gotta tell you, it's a lot better than being an astrophysicist like my folks and I originally planned.”

 

The way the career title rolls off Brian's tongue boggles him. He can't say it without stuttering and he has no idea what those people do but the fact that he's smart enough to be one kinda makes him seem stupid in comparison. It's alright though. Brian doesn't rub it in his face that he's a nerd as he heads into his house. He just rambles on about his dad and the kitchen they fixed up and the livingroom that used to have gaping holes in the drywall before he bought it. Andy likes hearing him talk about the house so lovingly, likes hearing him talk about the time spent with his father as if he cherishes it. He envies how close the two sound. He can't imagine having a decent relationship with his own father, let alone one strong enough to withstand losing a wife and mother, and having the ability to grow closer over that grief. His mom's still alive and kicking, and if it wasn't for her he and his dad wouldn't talk at all.

 

“So, you hungry?” Brian asks. “I made sandwiches and got some fruit and juice. You look like you've kept in shape since your old wrestling days so I assumed junk food was out.”

 

He follows him into the kitchen, watching as Brian lays the food on the counter. “Not yet if that's okay.” He takes a breath. “Can I see your stuff?” Oh wow! His eyes widen as he realizes what he said. “I didn't mean...” He blushes in embarrassment. “That came out wrong. What I meant to ask was-.”

 

“It's okay,” Brian tells him, grinning. “I know what you meant, man. Come on.”

 

He leads Andy into a room off the back of the bathroom. The door's closed so he thinks it's a bedroom. And, of course, that makes him extremely nervous. To see the bed where Brian Johnson sleeps, where he has sex, where he dreams...Yeah, he's got it bad if he's thinking like this. He can't stop it from happening, though. He never can. When he falls he falls, whether he wants to or not. Whether the object of his affection wants him to or not. And apparently gender has nothing to do with this habit. All he can do is pray that Brian will treat him better than his ex-wives did.

 

When Brian opens the door he's blinded at first by the sunlight shining through the windows on two sides of the room. How can a person work in such brightness? It reminds him of the smile Brian had graced him with when they ran into each other last week. Once his eyes adjust he sees the paintings. At least 20 canvases of different sizes and shapes leaning against the walls. An easel sits in the northern corner and there is a paint-splattered tarp covering the floor.

 

“This is where the magic happens!” he gestures with a flourish.

 

Andy reaches for the closest painting to him and turns it over. It's Allison's portrait. She's looking away from him, in profile, and her features are softened, romanticized. She looks so damn pretty Andy finds himself touching her cheek gently. It never would've lasted between them but he was happy it happened at all. She'd added a little zaniness to his rigid high school existence. Opened up his eyes to what his life could be if he lived it for himself instead of his father.

 

“She asked about you.”

 

“What?” he queries, coming out of his revelry.

 

“Allison. We talk at least once a week. And when she called a couple days ago I told her I'd run into you. She asked how you were, what you'd been doing with your life. You know.”

 

Brian was staring at his hand. He hadn't noticed but he's pressing his palm against her painted cheek. “Oh, God, sorry! Did I ruin it?” He pulls his hand away quickly, giving the canvas to Brian before he can mess it up any more.

 

“It's okay. It's an old one. One of the first I ever painted.” But he doesn't sound like himself. Like he's shutting down or something. Andy can't put his finger on why this change is stealing over the man. A minute ago he was fine. Now he's, well, he's just not.

 

Andy is silent, afraid to say anything, to even move. Brian walks over to a canvas closer to the easel. He won't look at Andy and Andy has no idea what he did wrong. Ony that he doesn't know how to fix it, to make the real Brian come back to him. He's blown it. He looks around the room, out the windows, anywhere but at the man he wants to look at. He crosses his arms, attempting to hide his vulnerability and fear.

 

“Did you love her?”

 

“Allison?” He finally takes a chance and gazes into Brian's eyes. It hits him then what he did. He'd touched the painting. Her cheek in the painting. Like a lover might. He hadn't meant anything by it, was just thinking about the old days, but to Brian it probably seemed like he'd been wishing for a second opportunity with her. He cocked his head. Why would Brian even care? Unless he had feelings for her? Maybe he was the one who'd never gotten over her? “God, no! Bri, I...We went out, what, two, three months? It wasn't like that. She was just different, you know?”

 

“Different. Yeah.” For whatever reason he's not able to make the situation any better. Not yet.

 

“I mean, hell, I'm not sure I've ever loved any of the women I've been with. And I've got two ex-wives who can vouch for that.” He smiles at Brian, needing the man to smile back, for things to be okay again.

 

Brian nods. Out of irony or jealousy he's not sure. Or it could be for another reason entirely. But the nod helps to restore the balance between them. “I know what you mean,” he agrees.

 

“You know, those sandwiches are sounding good right about now.” He won't ask why Brian seems grateful for the change of subject or the chance to leave the room. It's not necessary since he'd needed the break himself.

 

They walk back into the kitchen and sit at the breakfast bar, eating silently. The sandwiches have a thin slice of chicken breast on them, ham and provolone and, oddly, an avocado spread that looks a little gross but tastes really good. Andy likes it so much he eats another, enjoying the companionable ease that has returned. As he chews and swallows he pretends sitting so close to the other man, feeling his body heat, drowning in his light, chemical smell, is of no consequence. They are just two guys sitting together, sharing a meal. It doesn't have to mean more than that.

 

Until Brian says out of the blue, “You can have that painting of Allison if you want.”

 

He immediately stops chewing so he won't choke and puts his sandwich down on his plate. He gulps visibly. “Nah. That's in the past, you know? I mean, it'd be nice to see her again, to get the Breakfast Club together again. But me and her are good.” He's scared to face him but he does anyway. Swings around on his stool and stares him right in the eyes. In those beautiful clear blue eyes that he may have been secretly in love with since high school.

 

“Really?” Brian sounds hopeful.

 

“Really. I mean-.”

 

“That's...I'm glad to hear that,” Brian interrupts, “because otherwise I wouldn't do what I'm about to do.”

 

“What's that?”

 

Brian lays a hand on his thigh above his knee like it's the most natural thing in the world. “Usually the men I go after are obviously gay. We've already cruised each other and made sure it was mutual. But the signals you're giving off are pretty confusing so I thought, hey, no harm, no foul. If you're not interested I'll remove my hand and we'll pretend this never happened. If you are...” His eyebrows raise as he smiles.

 

God help him for thinking the smile is sexy as hell... “If I am?” Neither mention how his voice cracks.

 

“If you are then I can do this,” his hand slides higher up on Andy's thigh, closing in on his crotch, “and we'll go from here.”

 

Andy freezes. For the first time in his life he has no idea what to do. As a kid he had a script to follow. Do what the old man said. When he dated it was keep his head down and keep the girl of trouble. Same with college. Then when he got married it was make the wife happy. And that particular script stayed the same with wife #2. This? This is a completely different thing. Something he's never experienced before. And he is scared shitless! He doesn't move Brian's hand. He also doesn't get up and drive like a speed demon back home. He sits there, trapped, so stiff his spine could snap in two at any moment.

 

“Should I stop, Andy? Say the word and I will. If I'm reading this wrong...”

 

He exhales loudly through his lips. “No, I...” He forces his next words out through clenched teeth. “Don't stop.” His head drops as the counter starts shaking. No, wait, it's him that's shaking. Like a little virgin, for Christ's sake! “Please!” he pleads softly.

 

Brian squeezes once, then rubs up even higher until his hand is curling around the unexpectedly immediate bulge in Andy's jeans. He's moving slowly, giving him time to decline what he's offering. Andy doesn't. Just trembles more, his dick on fire under Brian's hand. Andy swears he can feel the lines of his palm through the rough material, swears his clothes have melted away by this point. He knows they haven't. But with the heat he's putting out they could.

 

“You're hard for me already...” Brian remarks, his tone tender. “I...Can I see you, Andy? All of you? We'll go as slow as you want but I need...” His breath blows against Andy's naked shoulder. Like he wasn't already a loose leaf floating around on the wind...

 

Andy's eyes must say everything because before he can blink Brian is pulling him up and into his bedroom. Once inside he stands there watching Andy breathe shallowly. His own hands are calm as he begins undressing him. Andy stands there, locking his joints so he won't fall down, his eyelids fluttering, slipping closed as Brian's presence, and his own fierce longing, overwhelms him. The first brush of his lips causes Andy to whimper uncontrollably. His tongue comes out, lightly licking around his mouth.

 

He shudders, trying to back up but hitting the wall next to the door. “...Bri, I...I never.....!”

 

“Shh, it's okay. Just let me kiss you, okay? Let me in.”

 

'Let me in.....' Andy obeys, opening his mouth when Brian resumes the kiss, groaning at the feel of his tongue. He sweeps the inside of his mouth, his lips relaxed as his tongue plunges in and out. And Andy takes it enthusiastically, raising his hands to find secure purchase on Brian's hips. He grips hard when Brian's hands run along the smooth path of his outer flanks to his backside and grab handfuls of his ass. The aggressive act makes something inside Andy break wide open. He throws his head back, baring his neck for Brian to kiss and lick.

 

“God...” Andy sighs. At last. Brian's mouth feels even better there than he'd imagined.

 

Soon Andy's tank top is off and Brian is working on his jeans. He still hasn't stopped kissing him, which is good because Andy thinks he might just die here and now and with his hands on his ass it's somehow the only thing holding him up. He's getting weak in the knees and Brian must notice because he pushes him until he hits the edge of the bed. Andy immediately helps him shuck his shoes, jeans and briefs. He stares up at Brian who slowly, teasingly, takes off his own t-shirt, wearing a private smile. Of their own volition Andy's palms run up his chest, catching at his nipples. Brian moans deep in his chest, encouraging. He lets his hands trail down, hanging onto the small waist of his jeans. He hesitates for only a minute before unfastening the button fly of Brian's jeans.

 

“Andy, you don't have to...We can still stop now.”

 

Brian's hard. Beautifully so. Andy can tell. And he wants to see. Which is exactly why he mumbles, “No we can't.”

 

He pulls Brian's jeans all the way off with little assistance, giving in to the urge to kiss along his pelvis now that it's been revealed. He licks at the skin, murmuring, “Mmm, you taste really good...”

 

“Fuck!” Brian whispers hoarsely. “You keep doing that and I won't last very long!”

 

Andy grins and rubs his face against his lower belly as his fingers seek and find his underwear band. He smells the crook between thigh and pelvis, his eyes closing when the musky scent fills his nostrils. He makes short work of the offending clothing and stares in wonder at the other man's dick. It could poke him in the eye it's so close and yet he can't help licking his lips as he memorizes the long, thin shape of it, the throbbing, veined redness. He finally brings his lips to the head, acknowledging to himself that this was where he'd been heading all along. His brain tells him he shouldn't do it, shouldn't let his tongue taste the slit pre-come's leaking out of. But he does. And it makes his head swim with an intoxicating violence.

 

He hadn't know. Hadn't known anything. This is clear. Brian bucks into the intimate touch, pushing past his teeth in one swift thrust. He relaxes and breathes through his nose and allows inch after inch to breach him, loving the way Brian's hands are clenching at his shoulders rhythmically as if he's already climaxing. He can hear something, soft, sweet nothings Brian is murmuring to him, but he's so busy enjoying giving him pleasure that he doesn't know what he's actually saying. He's thinking it probably doesn't matter anyway. In his wildest dreams he hadn't let himself imagine how good he would feel inside his mouth, down his throat. And he'd imagined a lot. Brian is whimpering, losing control, trying to pull him off. He won't let him. The idea of sucking him dry...Jesus, he wants more than anything to make him fuck his mouth and come down his throat. Andy wants to wake up the next morning never being able to doubt this happened. He wants to have sore, swollen lips and bite marks and hickey after hickey as proof that he'd done this. Then he wants to do it again.

 

“Andy, gonna...Gonna cooommme.....Please!”

 

Andy continues sucking, his head moving back and forth as he milks Brian. He wants it so fucking bad! He gets his wish finally. After a few minutes Brian's dick begins to pulse and harden even more, then he shouts Andy's name and shoots out thick jets that he swallows like delicious nectar. Still Andy keeps sucking until Brian pulls back in regret. Before he can blink Brian has his face in his hands, kissing him, grunting at the taste of himself. He pushes at Andy again until he can climb onto the bed over him, swinging a leg over to straddle Andy's hips.

 

“Never done that before?” Andy blushes, shaking his head. “You'd never know it.” He grins, dazzling him. He swoops down to whisper, “Wanna fuck me, Andy?” into his ear. “You can if you want. You can do anything to me and I'll let you...Anything you want, man...”

 

Such an invitation. Andy shudders at the possibilities going through his mind. What to do? So many things to try, to experience with this gorgeous man. Such a fair complexion, with those cloudy, sky-colored eyes seeing all of him, that wiry body so damn sexy and lean. Andy doesn't know why he wants this flat, slightly hairy chest when a big rack used to be such a turn on. He can't explain it in any way that would make sense. But Brian is waiting and he has every intention of obliging him.

 

“I want everything, Bri-. Every bit of you you're willing to give me.”

 

To prove it he reaches down between them and wraps a palm around his dick. An indecipherable sound rattles his chest when Andy's hand moves up and down. Brian tries to protest but it's feeble, nothing more than a faint poke against his wrist. Andy brings his free hand to his mouth to lick his fingers and palm. He then switches hands, dragging out a raw, gravelly groan, before letting go again to rub their dicks together. The friction is enough to make him come all over both of their bellies. He curses and buries his face in Brian's neck until he's finished, crying out Brian's name when the last jet pumps out of him.

 

“Jesus, that was so worth the wait,” Brian remarks, chuckling as he rolls off him to his side. “I mean I always knew it'd be good between us but that was...That was incredible!” A lazy hand caresses his stomach, rubbing his come into the skin on his stomach.

 

Andy smiles drunkenly, satisfied beyond compare. He'd say the same thing but there's no need. “Yeah. It really was.”

 

“Give me an hour or two and I'll be up for a repeat performance.”

 

“That long?” Andy teases. “Gettin' old, huh?”

 

“Hey, I'm younger than you!”

 

“Old man...”

 

Andy grins, then laughs out loud. For once he's happy. Honest-to-God happy. And it feels good. He should be freaking out right about now, should be running far, far away from Brian and his mega-watt smile and his oceanic gaze. But he's staying where he is. He's good here. Just like this. Naked and sweaty and content. Maybe he would've been good here back then too. If he'd had the guts to find out why a teenage Brian spoke to him in a way Allison and his other girlfriends hadn't. Maybe then he wouldn't have wasted time getting married, twice, only to get divorced, both times, because the relationships lost their spark. Of course, he'd been too deep under his father's, and society's, thumb to do anything else. He hadn't been ready until now. He can see that. And he's proud that he finally is.

 

“...So?...” Brian begins. “What now?” His words are nonchalant. His tone isn't. Andy knows what he's asking.

 

“What now?” he repeats. Just because he knows where this conversation is going doesn't mean he'll voluntarily put himself out there without knowing where Brian stands.

 

“I guess you'd rather I say it first. Alright, what happens between us now? Because I don't know about you but-.”

 

Andy rolls over on top of him, sticky and damp and grinning so wide his mouth hurts a little. “But?...” Brian eyes are wide and hungry. Andy stops playing around and tells him how he feels. “When I said everything, I meant everything, Bri. Cause that's what I'll be giving to you.”

 

The man's eyes get suspiciously dewy-looking as he stares up at him. Andy's grin dims into a tender smile as he leans down to kiss him. He sighs when Brian kisses him back gustily. An hour easily becomes minutes as Andy presses down, grinding into him, hardening again. The ache returns in him so he slides down Brian's body, nibbling at his flesh along the way, filing certain sounds and flavors away for future recall. When Brian calls his name and slides his fingers through his hair he doesn't even pretend to fight the feeling of home that settles over him. Just keeps moving, hoping this time the spark will stick around a long time.

 


End file.
